Category: Awesome Customers

(I’m the customer in this story. I’ve recently moved to a new state and applied to transfer my driver’s license. As such I’m having to use a temporary paper license until my new one is mailed to me.)

Cashier:*seeing I have a bottle of wine among my purchases* “Sir, can I see your ID for the alcohol?”

Me: “Sure.” *shows him the temporary license I have*

Cashier: “Umm, sir, that’s no good on its own. I need to see your old license, too, if you have it.”

Me: “Really? Umm… can I quickly dash out to my car and grab it? I’ll only be a moment.”

Cashier:*eyes me suspiciously* “You actually have it in your car? Not playing me here?”

Me: “Nope, swear to God. I have my old license right out in my car. If you can put my stuff aside I promise I’ll be right back.”

Cashier:*still suspicious* “Okay.”

(I run out, grab my old driver’s license, and run back inside. I join the back of the line at the cashier’s register, but upon seeing me he does a double take and gestures for me to come to the bagging area.)

Cashier: “Wow, you actually came back?”

Me: “Yep, here’s my old license. Really sorry if I held you up there. I’ve never had to transfer my license before so I didn’t know how it works if you only have a temporary one.”

(The cashier checks my ID, then looks at me with an odd expression. He looks to the wine, then just picks it up and puts it with my other stuff without ringing it up.)

Cashier: “Here, have a drink on me for being the one customer who actually acted sensibly when told there was a problem with his ID.”

Me:*amazed* “Uh… wow, really? You don’t have to do that.”

Cashier: “Sir, I wasn’t exaggerating there when I said you are the only one who didn’t throw a fit, or complain. Consider it a ‘gentleman’s discount.'”

(I made sure to enjoy that wine to the utmost. To that cashier, your gentlemanly customer empathizes with your plight and was glad to prove an exception to the rule.)

(A nice young woman my age comes into the fast food restaurant and orders a less commonly selected item. I have to go into the back of the store to get the ingredients because whatever coworker had made this item before hadn’t restocked the ingredients on the line.)

Me: “I’m really sorry about the wait. I’ll try to make your item as fast as possible.”

Customer: “No worries; it’s actually for my boss.”

Me: “Oh, okay.”

Customer: “Actually, the longer you take to make her lunch the less time I have to spend working.”

Me: “That’s interesting, because you’re a nice customer and the longer I spend making your item the less time I have to deal with rude customers.”

(Long story short, an item that should have taken me about five minutes took about fifteen minutes.)

(This is back when I am a student. I live in Ann Arbor, Michigan. My roommates and I frequently like to drive through Detroit to the nearest border crossing into Windsor, Ontario, Canada. It is less than an hour’s drive. A quite famous Canadian coffee-shop chain, known for its donuts and donut-hole-like small pastries, has not yet expanded its operations into the US.)

Roommate #1: “You know what I want? [Donut holes].”

Me: “Ooh, [Donut holes]! You know I’m always up for [Donut holes]!”

Roommate #2: “[Donut holes] do sound good. We could go; it’s not that far. Hey, [Roommate #3], you want to come with to get [Donut holes]?”

Roommate #3: “To get … [Donut holes]? You mean, like to Canada?”

(This brief attempt at being the voice of reason falls through, and all three roommates and I pile into my car for the drive, about 40 minutes at 1 am. We get to the guard booth.)

Border Guard: “National origin?”

Me: “We’re all Americans.”

Border Guard: “Where do you live?”

Me: “All of us live in Ann Arbor.”

Border Guard: “Destination?”

Me: “Windsor.”

Border Guard: “Length of visit?”

Me: “Um, I’m not sure. Half an hour, something like that? Less than an hour for sure.”

Border Guard:*raising his eyebrows* “Purpose of visit?”

Me: “We really need some [Donut holes]!”

(He laughs at that and waves us through. We obtain our lovely little balls of goodness and head back home, which of course entails another stop.)

(Behind and beside me, my roommates beamed and held up our boxes of [Donut holes], which are pretty distinctive. And then we have our pièce de résistance…)

Me:*holding up another box* “Look, we brought you guys a 20-pack!”

(This would never happen today, of course; too much trouble to do this on a whim, and the guards probably wouldn’t be allowed to accept it, either. I hope the world’s gotten safer, because it’s sure gotten less fun.)

(No one at my restaurant likes working the Sunday lunch shift, because it’s full of people who have just come from the nearby church. Most of them are total cheapskates and sometimes they’ll even get in your face about it. This Sunday, I’ve just delivered the check to a young couple.)

Male Customer: “Instead of a tip, I’m just going to give you this tract.”

(He hands me a paper and they both have huge grins on their faces as I can feel my expression turning into an obvious scowl.)

(I open the paper they give me as they get up to leave, and I get two surprises. First is a $20 tip on a $30 check, even though they said they weren’t going to tip me. Second, the paper is completely blank.)